Ball of misery

You know... this is going to be hard for some people to believe, but for the most part I'm not actively grieving over the loss of my relationship.  I DO love Michael; I DO miss him, and miss things about him when I don't see him.  But more and more I realize that he's right: this is the right thing for both of us.

Last night we were eating dinner at a completely nondescript steakhouse in W'loo, and I turned to him and said, "Perhaps we just make better friends with benefits than partners."  He smiled sort of shyly and said, "Perhaps."  And the more I think about it, the more I think...he just cannot handle the realities of a relationship.  Any relationship.  Notjust with me.  Not just with a potential partner.  With his children, his family, his "friends."  And while I'd like to think that I'm a little more able to relate to other people, I'm not sure I'm capable of maintaining a healthy relationship, either.  That's probably just my pain, exhaustion, and all the rest talking, though.

I have been back in Cedar Falls this weekend... got here Friday night, and am going home today.  "Home."  Who am I kidding?  I HAVE no home.  I have a spare room in Kelly's tiny, adorable house.  A house where I can't take ANY of my stuff, my "housy" stuff, because it not only doesn't fit spatially, it doesn't fit decoratively.  (Were there enough fucking commas in that sentence?)

So all my animal print stuff?  Is either going to have to be sold, donated, or go into storage.  Most of my kitchen stuff, ditto.  Although, SOME of my kitchen stuff is going to have to go back with me, because Kelly has nothing.  I'm more than happy to cook, but I cannot cook without pots, pans, etc.  (Kel doesn't cook; she bakes, but doesn't cook)

I had a moment of just misery the other day when I looked at a "floating" bookshelf thingEE I had bought in Galena and realized I had no home to use it in.  And I'm 40 years old, unemployed for over a year, and homeless
  
I just.

On top of all this, I'm going through withdrawal from an antidepressant that sort of sounds like the lion in The Lion King.  Symptoms thus far:

*brain zaps (electrical storms in the brain, where your brain briefly shorts out/goes offline)
*insomnia (I was up until 4am on Wednesday night-Thursday morning)
*INCREDIBLY vivid dreams - I've always had fairly vivid dreams, I thought.  I was wrong.
*knocking inside my head (I suspect this is more from my hormones - I am pms-ing and this is something that happens often when my hormones fluctuate)
*brainfog to the Nth degree - cannot find words.  Common words.  Typing this has been an exercise in high comedy.
*OMFG incredible knee/leg pain - I thought perhaps this was just an acting-up of my existing arthritis/kneecap askew pain.  And then last night happened.  I didn't think I wanted to survive the night.  This morning I took some Aleve and used some Bio-Freeze, and that took the pain down from a 9 to an 8.
*clumsiness that is exponentially worse than my usual lack of coordination
*everything I hear through my processor sounds funny.
*excessive urination (aren't you glad I told you?)- I was up 5 times last night to pee.  Which, given how much my knees hurt, was no fucking joke, let me tell you.

As the post says... I'm a big fucking ball of misery.

I need a nap.

Dad's perfidy (XP from LJ)

So. The reason Dad lost his shit and was screaming at me last week was because I had backed up their "my documents" folder on my HDD before I started fiddling wtih their computer (which was so full of crapware, bloatware, shitware, malware, filth - it was the most disgustingly filthy computer I have ever in my life seen, and I've cleaned a lot of them - that I probably could have spent four days just cleaning it up). First Lois got upset and wanted to know what made me think I had the right to have their documents on my hard drive. I kind of shook my head in confusion, and explained I'd just put them there so if anything happened while I was working on the computer their documents and pictures would be safe. She kept pushing at me about it, and finally got up and walked out of the living room, clearly upset. She didn't TELL me she was upset, mind you. It was just clear. She yelled something to Dad from the kitchen. At that point I was just shaking my head and going, "wtf just happened?" But I took my laptop over to Dad and attempted to explain the difference between a user profile on the computer and a user profile on MSN.

He stared at me and glared at me, and said, "which one of those files is our stuff?" "None," I said. "It's on my external hard drive over here."

"Delete it. Delete it NOW."

I stared at him. I said, "Dad, you don't UNDERSTAND. I just backed them up so I could put them back on your computer if anything happened."

His anger became more palpable. "I don't give a FUCK. You delete them NOW. You do what I said."

I said, "I won't delete them until I put them back on your computer. Your pictures and everything are in there."

Now he was screaming, five inches from my face. "DELETE IT NOW!!!! YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO GO IN AND READ OUR STUFF!!!" I said, "I didn't read a fucking thing... I just backed it up!"

"DELETE THE WHOLE GODDAMN PROGRAM!!!"

I was starting to shake.

I said, "Don't speak to me like that. Ever. You don't have a clue what you're talking about."

He screamed at me again. "DON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!!! I KNOW WHAT I AM TELLING YOU TO DO, NOW DELETE THE GODDAMN THING BEFORE I..." His hand was raised.

I was really shaking now. Shaking inside. Not because I was afraid, exactly. But because I was once again that little girl, the one who was crumpled in the corner, crying, broken. Not because HE hit me, but because Mom did. The players didn't matter. The feeling did.

I silently ejected my HDD, silently shut down my computer. He started to say something. I didn't look at him. I just said, "Don't speak to me. At all." And I kept packing my things. Just MY things, just the things that belonged to me, which Lois had (of course) tossed in a box. Not the things Lois had just given me the week before. Just my things.

I shouldered all my bags and carried my box out to the car, started it, backed out, and left without looking back. I wasn't even out of the driveway when the sobs hit... the sobs, then the shaking came bubbling up through my limbs and I tried to call Tim and couldn't get through and oh my god driving out of that town felt like driving out of hell.

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I was angry. I was hurt. I was completely incredulous. Did that really happen? Because I did the responsible thing? Really?

This can't be real.

Part of my anger was because... I am not a fucking SNOOP. I was doing what any responsible IT person would: backing up irreplaceable files. To be accused of doing something nefarious, when I was doing something that took literally fourteen hours just to get started?

Tim evinced some curiosity as to what they were trying to hide. At that point, I didn't care. Not in the least.

This morning, I was trying to find a grant narrative for Jenn, and I saw the file on my HDD: "Dad and Lois Backup."

I saw a letter titled "Letter to Mat and Cori." Matt is my ex-husband. Kori is his second wife. No, neither Dad nor Lois can spell.

Why are they writing letters to my ex-husband and his wife?

I decided I no longer gave a shit about my credibility with them. So I opened it.

This is what I found.
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Dear Mat and Kori,

Please find enclosed a copy of instructions from our Will that pertains to the boys. We would like you to keep this someplace for future reference.

We took out life insurance policies on both the boys shortly after each were born. This would guarantee them coverage later on in life at a very low premium to them and also cover their families when the time came.

Presently, Morgan and Sam are each covered by a $50,000.00 whole life policy. This policy has the options of being increased by either one of them at any time in the future with no medical exam and no questions asked. They can also expand each policy to cover their future wives and any children, also without any exams and no limitations.

Lois and I will maintain these policies until such time in the future the boys are financially able to take them over ( after they finish their educations and get settled in their careers ). As you can see, I am the first owner and beneficiary of each policy and Lois is the second. Should anything happen to either of the boys, their final expenses will be taken care of and the balance will be used to establish an IRA for the survivor. Should anything happen to both the boys, all final expenses will be taken care of and the balance will be used to establish an IRA held equally by Noah, Charlotte, and any other siblings that my come along in the future.

Please note, Lois’ daughter, Kristin Poole of Muscatine, has been designated as third owner of the policies should anything happen to both Lois and I. The reason for this is Gretchen. She knows these policies exist and is not very happy, to say the least. She has made it very clear she feels she should be the beneficiary and be entitled to “THE MONEY” if anything should happen either Morgan or Sam. We did not start these policies to benefit anyone except the boys themselves. Kristin was named third owner to avoid any problems between the two of you, the boys and Gretchen.

As it states in the instructions, should Kristin feel she can no longer manage this, she will contact you and make arrangements for you to take them over for the boys.

I have given Kristin a copy of these instructions and she understands what is to be done. I have also given a copy to Brian Shepley, State Farm Insurance, Muscatine, to keep on file with the policies.

Morgan is getting close to starting college and Sam will soon follow. When they make their final decision regarding the schools they will attend, we will help with their expenses as much as we are able.

If you ever have any questions, Please call us.

Lois and Marion
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Every time I read this, my stomach hurts a little more.

God knows what other lies they've told other people.

Yesterday

Yesterday was both horrible and, towards the very end, wonderful. 

I spent so much time in a fog yesterday... a fog of exhaustion, mostly, and sadness.  The only time the fog really lifted was when I was angry about DIAA being screwed out of something that is rightfully theirs and when I discovered evidence of Dad's perfidy and wrote about it.  Once I wrote about it.. a fog descended again.  This time a fog of depression, loss, anger, exhaustion... a feeling of worthlessness, even though I know that, logically, it's wrong. 

Janet I messaged me the other day with something that really, for whatever reason, woke me up.  "anything that can help from afar? you're strong, and vibrant and wonderful. small comfort, but please try to hold onto that knowledge..."

And I have.  I have gone back and read and re-read that.  I don't know why it woke me up, but I have found myself saying to myself, at random times in the day, "I am strong and vibrant.  I will survive."

It's just, sometimes... it doesn't quite feel like it.


Later, I'll paste in the post from LJ about Dad.  I need to remember.  I need to, because my own tendency to forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive will just lead me to hurt again, with hm.  


In the morning, I had asked Michael if we could have a discussion that night about timelines and plans.  He had said we could.  I texted him about 6 and asked when he'd be home, because I needed to go get SOMETHING for Norm.  He is just so itchy and miserable right now.  He finally came home about 7; I was making spaghetti for supper, and he came in and said he was going to mow.  I nearly had a breakdown.  I was angry.  "Don't do this, Michael... why are you doing this?"  He said we could talk after he mowed.  I said I wanted more than the 15 minutes before he fell asleep.  He said we could talk while we ate.  


Fine.


We started to talk about timelines; he said he's realized it may take several months to find places to live and get everything squared away.  I said that I didn't think I could live, at least not right now, in the same house under the circumstances we'd created over the past day or so.  It was too hard.  I didn't sleep.  He looked sad.  He said it was hard for him, too.  I said I didn't see it.  He said he didn't show things like I did.  I turned away to hide my tears.

He asked if I was going to try to go back to school this fall.  I said I didn't know.  He asked what I needed to do in order to be able to do so.  "Have a place to live up here," I said.  He sighed and said, "I'm sorry."


I said that I would have to sell my furniture.  "Why?" he asked.  Because there's too much of it... I won't have anywhere to put it.  "I can keep it until you're ready for it," he said.  "I'll probably have to put my tools in storage."


I told him this was just too hard, and I didn't understand WHY it was so hard.  Why, when I know he's right, that our relationship isn't going to last.  WHY did it have to be so hard?  I got angry at myself because I couldn't stop crying.  Not sobbing... not the heart-wrenched gasping for breath sobs that issued from me on Saturday evening when he said "no, Gretchen.  This is how it has to be," in response to my pleading.  Just the constant leaking from my eyes, my nose stopped up, uncontrollable.  I tried to stop it, and succeeded only in slowing it.


I told him I needed touch.  I needed to touch him, that it would be easier for me.


"What do you want to do?" he asked.


There was a long moment of silence.  I couldn't look at him.  Finally I met his eyes.  Let me sleep with you tonight, I said, and I'll go away tomorrow.


He fell apart.


"I don't want you to just go away... I want to know you're all right.  It's too hard, it's too hard, it hurts too much."  His hands were in his hair.  He had tears in his eyes.  He got up to go in the living room and get tissues.  I followed, and I patted the couch next to me.  Sit down with me, I said.  He sat.  I said, come here and cuddle me.  He burst into sobs.  "It's too HARD!"


But he came and he held on to me and rested his head on my breast while he cried quietly.  While my tears slowed and dried.  While I stroked his head and hand and back, and felt my own breathing slow.  We sat like that for a few minutes.  "I need to go mow," he said.  No you don't, I said.  I will take care of it.  "I need to go do something, SOMETHING.  Sitting here hurts too much," he said.  He was crying.


I pushed him back to sit upright.  I looked him in the eye, and I made him look at me.  


You need to stop pushing everything down, I said.  You need to let yourself feel.  


"It hurts too much!"


So does running, I pointed out.


"I can't sit here. Everything goes around and around and it HURTS."


What goes around and around?


"My mind."


I looked him in the eye again.  You have spent your whole life pushing everything down, running away from feeling, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally.  You need to stop.  


"But if I push it down it won't hurt."


Not now, I said.  But it hurts eventually.  You know it does.  


He is sobbing again.  "Let's go get ice cream.  Get some cream for Norm and get ice cream."


I had to laugh just a little bit at that.  Ice cream, your solution to everything, I said.


"Let's go.  Let's go get ice cream."


So we did.  We got cream for Norm, and Icy Hot for him.  He held my hand.  We went to Four Queens, and I rubbed the Icy Hot on his thigh where his muscles are spasming while we sat in the drive through line.  It didn't do anything, and the line wasn't moving, so I suggested we just go in.  "Do you want to wash your hands first," he asked.  Where?  There's no restroom here.  "We can go to Walgreens and look for BioFreeze and you can wash your hands," he said.


So we did.  They told us Hy-Vee is the only place in town to get Bio-Freeze, so we went back to Four Queens and got ice cream.  A chocolate marshmallow sundae for him, a butter pecan hot fudge with malt powder for me.  I gave Norm some of mine.  We went to Hy-Vee.  His hand reached for mine as we walked in.  We came home, and I rubbed cream on Norm while Michael "went to the library."  Then I told him I would rub the Bio-Freeze on his thighs, so I did.  When I was done, I went and sat in my chair and resumed folding my clothes.  "What are you doing?" he asked.  Packing, I said.  


He looked sad, so sad.  "You're tired.  Let's go to bed.  You can pack tomorrow."


I kept folding.


He got off the bed and repeated himself.  


I said that I'd go to bed in a little while.  "Come to bed," he said.  You don't want me to, I replied.  "I want you to.  I want you to come and cuddle."


He came and pulled me up from the chair.  I stood for  a long minute.  


And then I went and brushed my teeth and went to bed with him.


I woke up very early this morning.  Right about dawn.  I lay and watched him sleep, knowing this will probably be the last time I do so.  I cuddled back up to him and went back to sleep.  He was up early for an eye doctor appointment.  He came in after he was dressed and woke me.  "I'll be home for lunch," he said.  "I'll see you at lunch...?" There was an unspoken question.


I said, I'll see you at lunch.


He signed ILY as he walked out.  Out of habit, I'm sure.  But it nearly broke me again.


I'm going to go mow now, and pack.  I'm going to Kelly's tonight.  I told him I would go away. I meant it.